


Blurred Lines

by Anarchist_Puppet_on_Strings (StarlightXNightmare)



Series: Let Me Help Pick Up the Pieces [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Anger, Angst, Anxiety, Begging, Breaking and Entering, Crying, Depression, Emotional Abuse, Fighting, Gaslighting, Hair Pulling, Humiliation, I'm the reason we can't have nice things, M/M, Panic Attack, Past Injury, Possessive Behavior, Swearing, Toxic Relationship, Whump???, forced cuddling, no happy ending, open/ambiguous ending, superhero, villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightXNightmare/pseuds/Anarchist_Puppet_on_Strings
Summary: Jackie and Anti had a… weird relationship for a superhero and arch nemesis. They often tried to injure and kill each other (well, Anti did; Jackie tried to apprehend him) but there were many different scenarios that went on behind the scenes of their public—and not so public—fights. Things like not trying to maim each other. Not nice things necessarily but things that made Jackie feel slightly better. The lines between hero and villain—hurt and comfort—blurred into an indistinguishable mess.





	Blurred Lines

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough Antihero stories tbh

Jackie never liked being off patrol. The suffocating silence in the hero’s small apartment weighed down on his heart. The absence of noise wasn't the problem—there’s plenty of noise from neighboring apartments (seriously, the music’s  _ way _ too loud). It’s the lack of human interaction that crippled Jackie.

He laid on his back, a blanket wrapped around his legs and another swaddling his shoulders. Tracing patterns on the ceiling with his eyes got boring after the first few minutes but it's not like he had anything better to do. His soul felt too heavy for him to be able to fall asleep well enough to stay asleep, and it didn't feel worth it to keep trying to sleep only to wake up after a few minutes. Shifting onto his side, he wedged his arm under his head with a deep sigh.

He missed talking to people. The brief moments he got with people on patrol eased the lingering loneliness but it wasn't enough to banish it completely. It didn't really help that he’s a total extrovert. But with his shifts at the coffee shop, his shifts at the video store, his nightly patrols around the city, and his tinkering, he didn't have much time (or energy) to go out and make friends. He just… couldn't click with anyone properly anyway. Nobody wanted such a touchy feely friend.

The isolated feeling clinging to his body felt thick and gooey, refusing to drip off and leave him be. He just couldn't shake it off, and it’s beginning to get to his head, slowing him down. Just last patrol he got jumped by some gang. Many of them got caught but that didn't mean he didn't get hurt.

The air abruptly grew charged, a low humming—like leaving a computer on too long—joining the music blasting next door. Suddenly his apathy dried up, a wave of anxiety rolling over him. His knuckles went white as his grip on the blanket around his shoulders tightened. Curling in on himself, he squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath, and waited.

He didn't appear right away.

Static tickled along his tense muscles, involuntarily relaxing him, a soft breath leaving his nose. While his body’s relaxed, his mind raced a thousand miles a second.

Realistically speaking, Jackie shouldn't feel relaxed with his arch nemesis in his house, invading his personal space (for fuck’s sake, the bastard knew where he lived—he could  _ murder _ him in his sleep)... but he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. It’s easier to let the other do what he wanted.

Besides, usually the only extended social time he got is with Anti.

Jackie and Anti had a…  _ weird _ relationship for a superhero and arch nemesis. They often tried to injure and kill each other (well, Anti did; Jackie tried to apprehend him) but there were many different scenarios that went on behind the scenes of their public—and not so public—fights. Things like not trying to maim each other. Not nice things necessarily but things that made Jackie feel slightly better. The lines between hero and villain—hurt and comfort—blurred into an indistinguishable mess.

As humiliating as it is, the hero had come to depend on the demon. Sure, the civilians loved their hero (once they got over the fact that he’s a vigilante), nobody really cared about the man under the mask. Nobody except Anti. He’d drilled that into his head long ago.

Maybe if he wasn't in such a bad headspace (because that's what this is… maybe), he’d recognize this as gaslighting. Too bad he wasn't coherent enough to realize it. Even if he did, he’d still keep coming back. Because everyone knew Jackieboy Man and nobody knew Jay.

The only warning he got to the other's arrival were soft footsteps and an increase in the buzzing, gentle hum turning into the pins and needles.

His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when the other side of the mattress dipped down slightly. There were no words spoken for a few minutes, the only thing keeping the hero relatively relaxed being the spidering pain in his body. His mind screamed continuously, thoughts looping over and over like a broken record.

_ Run! Fight! You’re going to die! You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you're going to die! He’ll kill you and nobody will care! Run! Turn around! Run! Run! Run! Do something! _

“͠Look͏ at m̷e, rebel͢.”̢ The voice’s range jumped from deep to high, one voice breaking off into several before merging back together. It‘s grating and annoying.

Jackie chose to ignore the command, drawing the blanket around his shoulders up to his nose, keeping his eyes closed and struggling to keep his breathing even. His muscles were locked in place, petrified in fear.

His mask wasn’t there to hide the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hair’s matted and greasy. Not to mention the ring of bruises wrapped around his throat and on his left cheekbone, his busted lip, and his black eye. Anti would be pissed—someone had hurt him.

“̶I̶’̵l͞l c̴o̧u҉n̛t do͞w҉n ̵f͢ro̸m̡ t̢h̴ree͏,͡” Anti warned.

Anger pooled in Jackie’s chest. That's all it took to unfreeze his joints. “I’m not a fucking  _ child _ ,” he ground out between grit teeth. His sore throat felt like sandpaper and his voice croaked.

A clawed hand grabbed a fistful of his unkempt hair and wrenched it back to a painful angle. He swore in surprise, twisting around and swinging an elbow back only to have it caught.

“̶Oh ͡real͝l͡y?͢ ͞Cause you’̸r̨e͢ ̸fu͝c̵k͏i̡n acti͝n lik̛e ̶o͞ne͢.͟”̸

With a hand pulling his head back, he couldn’t shy away from the piercing gaze, two black and green ones boring into his electric blue. Anti’s snarl resembled more of a wild animal’s than a human’s. Jackie swallowed nervously under the gaze, realizing how vulnerable of a position he’s in with his throat bared like this. The other’s eyes flicked from each injury to the next before settling on the bruises in the shape of handprints on his throat.

“͝Wh͠at’s͘ t̸hi̕ş?̨” Claws dragged lightly across his throat, tracing the bruises. Oddly enough Anti didn’t call him out on his nervous gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing under his fingertips.

“Why do you care?”

A single claw rested on a particular sore spot and pressed down. Jackie clenched his jaw, a pinprick of pain slowly growing as warmth trickled down his neck.

“Answer ̧the̶ ͘question.” His tone brooked no argument.

Jackie’s too tired to keep playing this stupid game. His anxiety greatly overpowered his usual defense today. “It’s what it fucking looks like. Got jumped.”

A startled noise escaped his throat when he‘s flipped around properly on his side, facing Anti. It’s hard to breathe with his face smashed into the other’s chest. He stiffened in surprise when he felt Anti’s nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. He shuddered, his breathing hitching and his anxiety spiking higher.

_ Move move move move move move move— _

Jackie jerked when he felt sharp teeth brush against a sensitive bruise. He tried to push back, elbows digging into Anti’s middle, thrashing in an attempt to escape the hold. The arms only squeezed the little air he had out of his lungs.

“̧Yo̴u̴'͟re͢  _ m̡i̴ne̸ _ ,”̨ Anti growled.

The hero only redoubled his efforts, his mind clouded by panic. He opened his mouth to tell him that he didn't fucking belong to anyone but words shriveled up and died in his throat.

Heroes didn't let their enemies get into their house, much less stay. They most certainly didn't let them get near their bed. Heroes didn't let their enemies boss them around and hold them. Jackie clearly wasn't in control of this situation here. And it scared him.

Wrapping his arms under the glitch’s shoulders, clinging like his life depended on it, and balling his shirt in his grip, he hid his face in his chest as tears began to well up. Whether they were humiliated, panicked, confused, or a combination of the three didn’t really matter—what mattered was that he’s going to  _ cry _ in front of his enemy.

He couldn't tell if the possessive hold on him made things worse or better, but it really didn't matter in the end, because the lack of air only scared him even more, and then his shoulders and chest were shaking uncontrollably and tears began to soak into the black shirt. He tried to draw in a breath only for it to come right back out in a sob.

“͡It̵'s oka̡y, l̶it̴tļe̡ ̛h̵ero͘,͞ no̵bo̢d͡y’҉s ͠g͘et̶t҉i̢ng͝ t̛o yo͢u ͠no̷w,”͏Anti cooed, claws digging into his back.

The floodgates were opened.

“Please don't leave,” he choked between sobbing breaths. “I don't want to be alone. Don't leave me alone, please don't.” His throat hurt so,  _ so _ badly and his voice was unusually quiet.

He could feel Anti’s smile, full of sharp teeth and fangs. “N̢o͘w w҉h҉y͢ w̴o̧u͡ld͟ I͠ do̧ ̛th̢a̶t?”̶

Jackie’s grip tightened. He didn’t know if that reassured him or not.

In the end, his crying only created a feedback loop for his panic, so the tears and hyperventilating didn't stop for who knows how long. Eventually he’s left clinging weakly to the one he’s supposed to hate, eyes puffy and eyelids heavy. Whatever had been left of his voice is definitely gone now. He sniffled, throat protesting the action of swallowing.

“Do͘n̶e̸?͡”̢

He nodded slowly.

Jackie allowed a hand to guide his head up. Watery eyes met intimidating gleeful ones. Chapped, bloody lips were pressed to his forehead gently.

“̷Go ̶to͘ ̵s͟l̶e̸ep͘,͘ l͝i͡ttl͟e ̷he̡rơ.͘ ͡I҉ ̢w͠o͟n't l̕e̸ave͜.”

He curled into Anti, closing his eyes and sighing at the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, claws pricking his scalp uncomfortably. It didn't take long for the tired hero to slip into an uneasy slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeet blame River (@egopocalypse) for making this worse than it had to be. I somehow want to blame this on Kit (@kitnkas) but don't know how lmao???
> 
> Come ask questions about the ships, stories, head canons, or the series.  
> https://anarchist-puppet-on-strings.tumblr.com/


End file.
